


Breed Love

by AntlerSister



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Sexual Content, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntlerSister/pseuds/AntlerSister
Summary: Dante knew that Nero would do anything to help keep the lights on.
Relationships: Dante/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74





	Breed Love

They came into his home, one at a time. Civil enough, with polite smiles hiding their crooked teeth and silver tongues.

“30 minutes,” Dante told them without emotion, standing so that his shoulders broadened and his chest heaved tight and muscular against his shirt. “Not a second more,” his voice would be as rough as a crows caw, lower than normal so that he what he implied was always understood.

The door was never locked; Dante didn’t want to take that sort of chance, to leave his nephew truly alone in the greedy hands of nameless nobodies, more vulnerable than he already was.

He was always right outside the door, listening and waiting; watching the minutes tick by, each second taking way too long to die. He would sit and listen to the mattress groan and move, like somebody was having trouble sleeping, haunted by too many bad dreams.

With fingers at rest on the handle of the kitchen knife that he kept stashed at his side, and the tire iron hidden under his chair, Dante would listen as his nephew was called names. They’d call Nero beautiful, call him baby, or boy, or bitch. Dante liked to fantasize cutting the tips of their tongues out, slicing their faces into permanent shit-eating grins just as the last syllable left the stinking caves of their mouths. It was therapeutic in a way, this dreamlike violence, way better than playing Johnny Whoop on his thigh for the hundredth time and hurting only himself with every hit and miss.

The Kid hardly ever made a sound, unless of course they wanted him to be heard, be it a pained moan, a childlike sob, or a pornographic yell. So he was mostly quiet, mouse-like, a huge difference from the usual hotheaded normality that only Dante seemed to know about.

It’s hard to talk with a dick in your mouth anyway, Dante assumed.

As with any business, Dante’s had his fair share of regulars. Men with families and titles who wished to remain anonymous, paying a little extra hush money every time they gave a fake name that Dante never bothered to remember. There’s a guy who Dante guesses worked at the university. He’s tall, bald, pretty damn ugly, and has some kind of skin condition on over half his face; a red and raw-looking congenital disease, like herpes on a bad day. He can’t imagine what the rest of the guy looks like with his clothes off and is glad for it. 

There’s another guy that’s a grade-A creep, of course he has to pay for sex. Speaks with a hard stutter and is stooped over like some servant from a horror movie. He’s the one who calls Nero ‘l-l-lovely’ and says that he has a ‘wonderful litt-t-t-tle b-body’. Dante can hardly stomach listening to him talk, and has no idea how the Kid can stomach taking his prick.

At the end of each half-hour, Dante would knock on the door, none too softly, to wrap things up. To get the sick fucks out of his nephew and his house. But he couldn’t be too mean, since they’re the ones who kept the lights on, kept the gas burning and the water running. Without them, they’d be out on the street, Dante hates to admit.

When they’re gone, he checks up on the Kid, Nero, his dear little nephew, his own flesh and blood turned one trick pony. He’s not mean; leaves it up to Nero to call it a day, or to give it a few more rounds; but only if he’s up to it.

Nero always forces a smile for him, maybe even shows Dante a few teeth as he wipes the sweat from his hickey-covered neck and says that he’s fine, he’s okay.

_Liar,_ Dante would think with an inward grimace, turned away from the garbage can that was full of used condoms, dripping with the cum of strange men. Being wrapped was an absolute must for clients of course, but not for Uncle Dante. 

One of the perks of being family.

The things that Dante’s done could not be blamed on alcohol, a drug addiction, or some nameless illness that sloshed around in his fucked-up head. The things that he did were worse, as it was a conscious decision, a desire. Something that he thought of and fantasized about more often than he’s willing to admit to anybody; be they living or dead.

He had fucked his own nephew, bred him like an animal, more than once, without any clothing or condoms to speak of. And he had no qualms about doing it all over again either.

After he was forced to listen to every sigh, every command and orgasm through the closed door, he would always be uncomfortably hard; tense and aching with his hands palming his thighs without even knowing. But he wouldn’t worry too much about it, since he knew that Nero would take care of it with skilled hands and an open mouth when everything was said and done. 

For a change of scenery, they’d fuck in the living room, on the leather couch since it was easy enough to clean. He’d let the Kid on top since his back would be bruised by then, purple and yellow like the sky during a bad thunderstorm.

Who knows why they did the things that they did, maybe the monster that lived in Dante’s blood was alive in Nero’s blood too. The Kid would gasp as he locked eyes with his uncle, blinking gently and sighing as Dante moved inside of him. It all felt so dirty and vulgar, as if innocence itself had died with its eyes open.

Nero’s insides felt like home, a warm sweet place filled with blood and guts and his own cum. Dante could see how this could be addicting, how guys could blow their entire paycheck for a taste of something like it. If Dante had the money, he knew that he’d fall victim to it too.

With his hands on his nephews hips, neither of them spoke, letting their bodies talk to each other. Conversing with their sweat, their smiles and open mouthed pants. Dante smiled as Nero raked his nails down his chest, leaving behind long livid marks, his blood rushing to the surface of his skin, marking it red. 

They were two simple souls, bound by their self-made bliss that was the color of rust. Nero’s trembling hands at Dante’s chin and they were kissing with the passion of humans stricken with an illness that only affection could cure. Breeding their dirty love. 


End file.
